


Small Comfort

by lyricalnights



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalnights/pseuds/lyricalnights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm reposting my old (very old) HP fanfiction so it will all be in one place. This was written for the Ron Ficathon in February 2004, so it's canon compliant through OotP only.</p>
<p>A/N: she wanted H/R, first time, a bit of humor, and NO HERMIONE TRIANGLE; I tried to deliver. =) Hugs and kisses to thepsychicclam, my tireless crossfandom beta.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Small Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reposting my old (very old) HP fanfiction so it will all be in one place. This was written for the Ron Ficathon in February 2004, so it's canon compliant through OotP only.
> 
> A/N: she wanted H/R, first time, a bit of humor, and NO HERMIONE TRIANGLE; I tried to deliver. =) Hugs and kisses to thepsychicclam, my tireless crossfandom beta.

“Is everyone tucked away for the night?” Ron asked softly from the doorway.

Harry pivoted on reflex, wand outstretched, but relaxed as he saw the familiar shock of red hair. Between them lay a room full of low cots and mattresses; each held its own slumbering warrior, most no older than twenty-five, a few as young as sixteen.

“Almost,” he said, keeping his voice equally low as he crossed the room. “Remus is down in the kitchen patching up Ginny’s arm and Hermione’s off helping Snape with something that smells totally foul.”

Ron chuckled, pulling the door shut behind them. “I’m sure that means it’ll be on our bodies or in our stomachs by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

The pair of them stood in the dim hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place, battered and bruised from Voldemort’s latest assault. This is how it was these days: fight, retreat, heal the wounded and bury the dead, then repeat the whole process as soon as you could fit up another team.

Harry looked Ron over with the eye of a practiced field mediwizard. “Hurt this time, need any spells or salves?”

“Just a year’s worth of sleep, a sunny day and a clear Quidditch pitch.” Ron returned the favor more subtlely, checking Harry for new scars and noting the latest collection of circles under his eyes. It was like discovering the age of a tree, he guessed, by how many rings there were, by how much stress had been placed upon the wiry frame of everyone’s favorite boy-hero.

Harry blinked for a moment, and then reached for Ron’s arm. “Yes, well, if wishes were broomsticks, we’d all have a good game of Quidditch, now wouldn’t we?”

They began to move, silently and swiftly, towards the room under the eaves that they shared together or in shifts. It was their prerogative as pseudo-generals, leaders of men and women who rightly should still be called children, a bare closet with an actual bed and what might once have been a fine coverlet, if they used their imaginations.

“Harry,” Ron’s voice said softly in the darkness, halfway up the stairs, and then they were pressed against the banister, panting desperately into each other’s ears as four hands made sure of what their eyes had found earlier.

You’re okay, you’re all right. We’re here and whole, the both of us, again.

Harry ran his thumbs over Ron’s windburned lips, tracing their outline before pressing his own cracked lips against them. Ron’s own fingers dipped into the back of Harry’s trousers, pulling out his shirttail before running up to clutch at his back, tense with knotted muscles and fatigue. They kissed hard and quickly, never stopping for more than a moment before moving on to a new location, eager to relearn what had been found untold times before.

Ron broke away first and turned to drag Harry up the last remaining steps and into their haven. “Must have been more of a battle than I thought,” he said breathlessly, throwing off his clothes. “We usually make it at least to the doorway before we’re at it like rabbits.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Harry said, tackling him to the bed as he stripped off his worn shirt and trousers. “We’re the only ghouls in this attic now.”

“We’d better make a good show of it then, so why don’t you see how loudly you can make me howl.” Ron leaned back on his elbows, staring at Harry hovering over him in the dim candlelight.

“Should I take that as a personal challenge?” Harry asked, bending down to place a trail of small kisses from Ron’s navel to his nipples, stopping to run his nose through an unruly patch of red hair before proceeding up the line of Ron’s neck to nibble at his earlobe.

“If you… oh god… insist,” Ron panted, sliding one hand down Harry’s body. He brought the other hand up to grab the headboard as Harry abruptly reversed direction and slithered downwards, not stopping until he was propped between Ron’s legs, eyeing his cock with interested speculation.

“Please, Harry,” Ron pleaded as Harry tormented him, running first a single finger and then the very tip of his tongue up from the base of Ron’s cock to the head. He enjoyed making Ron’s voice take on that slight whine that meant he could no longer be held responsible for his own actions.

“Slow or quick?” Harry asked, ceasing to tease his squirming lover.

“Quick, please. I need it, need you now,” Ron moaned, bringing his other hand to the headboard for leverage.

Taking the hint, Harry hoisted himself slightly into the air and brought his mouth down on Ron’s cock, working up a steady rhythm and groaning around him in a way he knew drove Ron absolutely crazy. Ron’s body bucked and twisted underneath him, moving in counterpoint to fuck Harry’s mouth with every thrust of his hips.

“Harry!” Ron cried as he came, his face going slack as his hands slipped from their tight grip and moved to pull Harry up his body.

“God, that was amazing,” he said, rolling over and pinning Harry under his broader body. “Do you want me to…?”

“No,” Harry panted. “I just want your hands on me. I want to see your face. Please touch me, Ron.”

Ron complied quickly, reaching down to palm Harry’s cock, slimmer and lighter than his own, but no less needy at the moment. As he stroked Harry in quick syncopation he put their faces so close together that their noses touched.

Harry brought his hand up to clutch at Ron’s bicep as it lengthened and shortened with his movement. His breath caught in his throat and his fingers tightened their grip, causing Ron to pick up speed and tilt his chin so that they could hold eye contact while their lips touched, mumbling nonsense to each other under their breaths as Harry came.

After a quick clean-up job, they lay pressed close together and listened to each other breathing in the small space as they sank down towards sleep. They rarely talked after sex, never wanting to break the mood with anything that might turn into a discussion of tactics or supply lists or who wouldn’t be joining them next time they hit the lines. They just… existed, tangled on a narrow bed that had seen countless desperate couples before and might very well see other equally touch-hungry couples after they were gone.

Each time was the first time, and the last, and nothing they said could change that, anyway. 

~Fin~


End file.
